Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (54 page)

Robert laughed. “Pierre, I meant it as a compliment.
Lord Reginald’s ruthless reputation is the main reason I signed on
to work for him. And unfortunately, it’s also most likely the
reason his bride has fled for the hills.”

“Whatever do you mean, Master Robert?”

“What attracts mercenaries to a man isn’t
necessarily going to be a boon with the ladies, I’m afraid.”

Pierre rubbed his hands together nervously. “This is
not a time for your ill humor, Master Robert. Your presence is
required in His Lordship’s pavilion at once. Follow me, please,
sir.”

Robert patted Amir’s withers, dusted the horsehair
off his hands, and trudged across the camp behind the footman.
Brutus, Lord Reginald’s hulking Roman guard, greeted them at
pavilion door and held back the tent flap for them both.

Lord Reginald paced the inside of his tent, hunched
over and muttering. His humpback was always more pronounced
whenever he was angry. Robert cleared his throat loudly to announce
their presence, and his employer stopped mid-stride. “Ah, Robert.
Thank you for coming so quickly. Pierre, leave us.”

“But Sire—“

“
Leave us.”
Lord Reginald’s booming voice could melt iron.
Pierre bowed deeply and shuffled out of the pavilion without
another word. “I trust Pierre informed you of the
situation?”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

Lord Reginald didn’t mince words. “The Duke does not
know his daughter’s whereabouts. His letter speculated that his
daughter had been captured, possibly for ransom, but I highly doubt
it. Most likely she has fled rather than marry a dried-up old stick
like me.”

That remark surprised Robert. Such personal candor
was highly unusual in his employer. Robert wasn’t sure how to
respond. He decided something neutral and noncommittal was best.
“Arranged marriages are always difficult for women, Sire,
regardless of the groom.”

“True,” Lord Reginald said. “Though I’m hardly what
you’d call a good catch.”

“On the contrary, sir,” Robert said, turning on his
mercenary charm. “You are rich, and powerful, and have one of the
finest estates in all of England. Not only that, you have lands and
holdings all over Europe, and more riches than half the kings in
Christendom. Few Saxon women would have the opportunity of such
security as you can provide. Surely the Lady Sabina will grow to
love you in time.”

Lord Reginald rubbed his knobby brow and sighed.
“She shall not grow to love anything if she is not found soon. The
wilds of the English countryside are no place for a maiden.” The
miserable, misshapen old man leaned hard on his cane. “Robert, she
must be found, for her sake as well as mine. And I have decided to
entrust this task to you, and only to you. You shall take Amir and
ride out alone immediately in search for her.”

Robert coughed. This was the absolute last thing
he’d expected his employer to say. “Me, sir? Alone?”

“Yes.”

“But why me, sir? And why not allow me to take a
small number of soldiers with me? The West Country is a hostile and
uncivilized land, Sire, and there is safety in numbers.”

“You are correct, Robert,” Lord Reginald said with a
sigh. “But this is not one of your usual assignments. Today our
quarry is a woman, not a band of wild Saxon outlaws. A woman is a
very different kind of prey.”

Robert stifled a laugh. “Yes, Sire, I am aware of
the differences between men and women.”

Lord Reginald raised his fist in a warning gesture.
“Don’t turn this into another one of your jokes, Robert. I enjoy
your humor at the feast table, not in times of crisis.”

“I’m sorry, Sire.”

Lord Reginald folded his hands behind his lumpy
back. “I ask you to go alone partly for stealth, and partly out of
respect for my bride’s wishes. I know she has most likely fled out
of revulsion. I am not a stupid man, Robert. I know that I am not
attractive. If I am to have her returned to me safely as my bride,
I must respect her needs as a woman, and not come on too strong. If
I send you, my best and strongest henchman—not to mention my
best-looking one—in my stead to fetch her, perhaps she will come
quietly and accept her fate as my honored bride.”

“And if she doesn’t, Sire?”

Lord Reginald laughed his trademark sinister laugh.
“Then we shall use force, of course.”

Robert forced out a laugh of his own. “Of course.
Though where ladies are concerned, I would hope that Your Lordship
would use force like a gentleman.”

“If there is such a thing,” was Lord Reginald’s
noncommittal reply. “Robert, in this purse you shall find the first
half of your pay for completing this vital and risky quest. Your
full pay for the job, should it be completed successfully, will be
five hundred crowns, payable in full when my bride is delivered
safely to me for her lawful marriage. I suggest you keep to the
high road, and head towards Glastonbury. Methinks that any young
woman in Lady Sabina’s position might be considering a career as a
nun. Half the abbeys in England are filled with noblewomen who took
the veil rather than undertake the marriages their fathers made for
them.”

“But of course, Your Lordship. Though I expect Her
Ladyship probably thinks her plan is quite original.”

Lord Reginald guffawed. “This is why I chose you for
this assignment, Robert. You have the right line of thinking when
it comes to women. He reached into his doublet and produced a heavy
velvet pouch. “Here are the two hundred fifty pounds, paid to you
as a deposit only.”

“A deposit, Sire? We’ve never made such an
arrangement before.”

“That’s because I never thought you might fail me
before, Robert. Should you fail in this quest, you shall return the
two hundred fifty pounds to me, plus five percent interest. That’s
assuming you return alive, of course. As you know, Robert, I am
known to have somewhat of an ill temper when my servants fail
me.”

“Aye, my lord,” Robert said, his stomach quavering
the slightest bit. “But why do you think I might fail? ‘Tis a mere
woman, after all.”

“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of,” Lord Reginald
replied. “For nothing is simple where a mere woman is
concerned.”

Chapter
4

The king’s high road, five miles outside of
Glastonbury, two days later.

Sabina was making good time. She was less than an
hour’s ride from Glastonbury. She could already see the Tor, the
conical hill with its high gray belltower atop its green sloping
hillsides. At the foot of the Tor was Glastonbury Abbey, her
destination, where peace and safety awaited her behind its thick
stone walls.

Well, safety perhaps. Not peace. Sabina fully
expected her years as a nun to be hell on earth. But still a better
alternative than spending her life with a misshapen, murderous
Norman monster. The far-off Tor became blurry with her tears; she
wiped them away with her sleeve. What on earth had her father been
thinking when he made such a miserable match for his beloved
firstborn? Was their existence at Angwyld truly in such peril?
Surely her father should have known that she would have found such
a marriage detestable, a fate worse than death.

But even if she was the Duke’s eldest and favorite
daughter, Sabina knew full well that in England, the wishes of any
woman mattered for naught under the law. Women were chattel, to be
bargained over like cattle or thrown about like dice on a gambling
table. Even her educated, enlightened father had his limits where
women were concerned. Her father was a master politician, and he
had used his eldest daughter as collateral to make a political
deal.Sabina had heard of scores of similar acts throughout her
young life. Her own mother had married her father in just such a
political deal, though her mother had been fortunate enough to be
betrothed to a kind, learned man who soon grew to love her above
all things. Political betrothals happened among the nobility all
the time, all over Europe. The only difference here was, Sabina was
now the dice thrown upon the table, to be picked up and pocketed by
Lord Reginald de Guillaume.

Ha. Not if she could help it.

Her journey thus far had been an uneventful one,
though it had been far from easy. It had rained for almost her
entire journey, sometimes in torrential downpours where the wind
whipped the rain so hard it almost fell horizontally. Arthur’s
underquarters were caked with mud, as was her cloak and gown. She’d
run out of provisions the day before, and was sustaining herself on
edible berries and roots she found growing along the side of the
road. She drank rainwater from puddles after her waterskin ran dry.
She was soaked through to the skin, and her waterlogged hair had
come out of its braids and stuck to her head, neck and shoulders.
She’d appear at the abbey a bedraggled, filthy stranger begging for
help—which she hoped would only help her cause with the abbess.
Although the abbess at Glastonbury had a reputation for her
compassion and benevolence, that didn’t necessarily mean she
accepted every damsel-in-distress who showed up at her door into
her godly order. The abbess had plenty of problems of her own,
after all—many of them financial. Sabina wasn’t so naïve as not to
know that the abbess would probably respond best to a bribe. Even
women of the cloth weren’t above such things. The gold-inlaid box
of precious aromatic woods that contained her mother’s entire jewel
dowry was nestled inside a hidden saddle pocket between Sabina’s
legs. Those jewels were her entire future, and she was taking no
chances. Even if she had only five miles to go, Sabina well knew
that highway robbers could still be lurking behind the next boulder
or bend in the road.

Or if not highway robbers, something far, far
worse.

Sabina was just wondering what she might do to
protect herself and escape if she came upon something strange and
sinister on the last few miles of her journey when something
strange and sinister appeared out of nowhere.

A dark hooded figure rode out from behind a clump of
evergreen trees. His face was invisible, hidden behind the shadows
cast by his heavy overhanging black hood and the gray skies
overhead. His robes were heavy and draped about his body in many
loose folds. But even hidden underneath all that heavy fabric, it
was obvious that this man was tall, broad-shouldered, powerful. He
rode an enormous dapple-gold horse of a size and breed the likes of
which Sabina had never seen, even among her father’s prized
personal herd. The horse’s golden coat was so shiny and fine it
fairly glowed, even under these damp, overcast skies, and it was
easily a good four or five hands taller than Sabina’s mount Arthur.
And Arthur was already one of the largest, most powerful stallions
in all the West Country.

A huge, dark-robed man riding a massive, almost
supernatural-looking horse stood ready to overtake her. A man such
as this could only be one of two things, Sabina knew. A highwayman
here to rob and rape her—or one of Lord Reginald’s henchmen.

Either way, it meant only one thing.

Run.

Sabina touched her spurs to Arthur’s sides and he
immediately took off at top canter. But Arthur was exhausted from
more than three days’ travel across the rainy countryside, and soon
began to lose speed. Knowing full well that she couldn’t hold off
her pursuer on the main road, Sabina steered her mount off the
highway and into the forest. She followed a narrow bridle path for
a short while, but it soon became overgrown and impassable. Sabina
struggled to steer Arthur through the tangled vines, brush and
undergrowth, but it was no use. Less than a minute passed before
the hooded figure and his massive, mysterious horse overtook
her.

The rider and his mounted backed Sabina and Arthur
into a corner. They were trapped in a tiny space between two
enormous elder trees, with sheer rock cliffs rising up from either
side. There was no escape.

Well, no escape but up, anyway. Sabina grabbed a
low-lying branch from one of the elder trees and pulled herself
upward. She climbed that tree like she’d never climbed anything
before, and once she was about thirty feet above the ground, she
finally stopped to catch her breath. She looked above her, hoping
to see more branches thick enough to support her weight. There were
none. She was at the end of the road, as it were. Her only hope now
was that her pursuer didn’t know how to climb trees. And somehow
she thought that was unlikely.

Yet instead of dismounting from his horse and
following her up the elder tree, the hooded figure just settled
down into his saddle, looked up into the tree’s branches, and
waited.

And waited. And waited some more.

Soon almost an hour passed. The hooded figure still
hadn’t budged. He gazed upwards into the elder branches, and at one
point Sabina thought she might have seen the flicker of his eyes
underneath his hood as they locked with her own. When that
happened, Sabina felt a strange tingling in her belly, then her
whole body grew warm. She’d never felt anything like it before.
Then again, she’d never been this frightened before.

The thick elder branch supporting her began to creak
under her weight. Her limbs were sore from unaccustomed use and
three days of riding, and her back ached from being wedged in an
unnatural position against the knobby tree trunk for so long.

The hooded figure seemed to notice her discomfort.
“You do realize you’ll have to come down at some point, don’t you?”
he called up to her in perfect English. His English might have been
perfect, but he still spoke with a heavy French accent.

A Norman.

Sabina’s blood went cold. A Norman
had her up a tree. He was one of Lord Reginald’s trusted vassals
for sure, sent to recapture her. Or if not, he was just a random
Norman nobleman roaming the countryside and harassing Saxon maidens
for sport. He had to be a nobleman with that horse.
Had
to be. Mere soldiers
and mercenaries didn’t ride such magnificent animals. Perhaps
Sabina could appeal to his noble blood and sense of gentlemanly
decorum to guarantee her safety. Then again, Normans weren’t
generally known for their decorum—at least not where Saxons were
concerned.